


Leave A Light On

by Lunardeityastrid



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Inspired by Music, M/M, Parallax Hal Jordan, wholesome ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29544717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunardeityastrid/pseuds/Lunardeityastrid
Summary: Hal took the key from him, shuffling to sit upright next to Bruce, his hands holding it as if it was the most fragile thing in the world. Bruce had always liked Hal’s hands, the things they had done, and the way he touched his life. The way his hands carried an entire story.Hands that had once pushed a jet pass the sound barrierHands that once balled into a tight fistHands that once intertwined with Bruce’sThat had once wrapped around the neck of SinestroHands now stained  with the blood of every race, he once shared a uniform with.
Relationships: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Leave A Light On

_“Here,” Bruce sat on the side of the bed, ushering a key towards a groggy Hal. Hal grabbed his head and looked in confusion at the key. It was too early for this and Hal was close to saying so. After the night he had, Bruce wouldn’t have been surprised if he slept all day.”It’s a key to the house, so you can let yourself in whenever you need somewhere to crash.”_

_“Are you being serious?”_

_“I’ll even leave the light on so you know to come on in.”_

_Hal took the key from him, shuffling to sit upright next to Bruce, his hands holding it as if it was the most fragile thing in the world. Bruce had always liked Hal’s hands, the things they had done, and the way he touched his life. The way his hands carried an entire story._

_Hands that had once pushed a jet pass the sound barrier_

_Hands that once balled into a tight fist_

_Hands that once intertwined with Bruce’s_

_That had once wrapped around the neck of Sinestro_

Hands now stained with the blood of every race, he once shared a uniform with.

Bruce started coming to league meetings again. For a while, he stopped. He did not want to be among the five, the broken league because each face was a silent reminder. A reminder of who he let down, because he should have seen it coming. He was the one who was with Hal more than anyone. Not only that but Bruce was the one with thousands of contingency plans at his fingertips, but even this he couldn’t stop. He was quiet as usual, never offering any input, never truly paying attention. Clark knew he wasn’t listening; He didn’t expect Bruce to snap back after what had happened. His eyes, beneath the cowl, were glued to the seat that had once been Hal Jordan’s. They refused to move it and right now, they refused to fill it. His hands beneath the white gloves were either folded, clasped together, or pressed against his Californian skin. Hal would often look at Bruce and just the slightest, just enough, his lips would twitch up in a smile. 

Hal wasn’t dead, he was gone, much like his home of Coast City. His mind, his body, it wasn’t him. Bruce for what felt like the first time in forever, had hope that Hal would find his way back. He didn’t know if he would be angry at Hal or forgive him or what, he just wanted Hal to come back. 

Each night before going out to patrol Gotham, Bruce would leave the lamp beside his bed on. It was a promise and something he did well before Parallax infected Hal. 

_Bruce could see the lamp had been turned off. It was a habit ever since he handed Hal a key, he would drive around the manor in the Batmobile to see if the light was on. If it was on, he figured Hal had a deep space mission or that he would arrive later in the night. It brought him some relief as he clutched his wounded side, seeing the darkness fill the master bedroom. He should have gone straight to the cave to have Alfred look him over. Instead, in cape and cowl, he wandered up the stairs to the master bedroom. There with his fingers, wrapped around Bruce’s pillow, Hal was fast asleep, snoring softly._

The rays of light were visible through the backyard, if Hal, some part of him snapped and found his way back home. But so far, for the past few months, the lamp stays on and Bruce sits up and waits. A sort of waiting that everyone knew wasn’t healthy. Some Nights, he wouldn’t even go on patrol, he just waited. A hopeless, pointless, sort of waiting. Hal Jordan was no longer himself, and Bruce was hoping that some part of him was still in there, was still underneath that ring. Alfred was at a loss, at least Bruce wasn’t in the cave but he still wasn’t sleeping. The empty side of the bed kept him awake. The lost laughter and late night kisses, could be heard and felt among the sheets. 

He would walk around Wayne Manor Garden, talking to the moon like a fool. He thought wherever Hal was in space he would hear him. Because Hal was up there, either a star or a moon to some far away planet. Hal was gone, millions of miles away, but not dead. It didn’t mean he had to be gone for forever. 

Bruce had to continue to live his life. So galas were held, the manor never empty. He went to work in the morning and sat through meeting after meeting. He came home and worked some more before slipping into his second skin. When he heard a fighter jet or saw what he presumed was a green streak across the sky, he wondered if it was Hal. It never was. He knew because the lamp stayed on, the bed was still empty. One thing about Bruce, he was stubborn and no amount of telling him that Hal wasn’t coming back or that this whole thing was pointless would stop him. He knew Hal. He knew the stories that Hal carried in his hands. Bruce considered himself one of those stories. They were a two parted story, incomplete without each other. 

During a gala, after Bruce had finally returned to the league, he had clumsy spilt a drink on his shirt. He wanted nothing more than an excuse to escape, to sit in silence for a little while. He headed up the long stairs, undoing his bowtie and buttons as he went. He reached the door to the master bedroom, the light was no longer painting the floor in the hallway but Bruce paid no attention to it. He closed the door softly, his eyes not yet meeting the sight on the bed. 

He turned on his heels, tossing his shirt to the floor. He stopped suddenly, sucking a deep breath. As if nothing had ever changed, Hal was fast asleep. Bruce smiled to himself, so much happiness and relief flooded him. He climbed onto the bed behind Hal. With a small touch of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Hal pulling him close to his wine stained shirt. Hal was real. This was real. He was solid, warm and breathing. 

_“I guess I’ll always find my way home.”_

_“It’ll always be here.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this captures the song by Tom Walker (Same title) but I really love it and it's been on repeat. I guess I gave it a little bit of a twist. It was inspired solely by these lyrics:
> 
> Guiding like a lighthouse to a place where you'll be  
> Safe to feel our grace 'cause we've all made mistakes  
> If you've lost your way  
> I will leave the light on
> 
> Thanks for reading! 💖😊


End file.
